By Art Harris, The Bald Truth, (c) www.artharris.com, all rights reserved
In the Red Clay Scoop category, The Bald Truth has learned a closely held secret HLN host Nancy Grace may be trying to hide from fans all atwitter about her Dancing With The Stars debut Monday: the Macon, Ga. native is no stranger to the dance floor.
Don’t let that ‘aw shucks, I’m just a country girl,’ fluttery eyelashes routine fool you like it did more than one pedigreed criminal defense lawyer in her DA days, before she ate them for lunch.
Any contestants snickering at the petite one time prosecutor training hard to drop a few pounds before her upcoming gladiator games had better chew on this fried hushpuppy:
BOMBSHELL! “Miss Nancy” can dance.
“I keep missing the third step,” said Nancy Friday night on HLN, describing how her DWTS partner “keeps yelling at me” when she makes a mistake practicing 5-6 hours a day.
“I don’t know anything about dancing,” she said in a recent show promo interview.
“Just move those hips,” advised a former DWTS champ unaware Nancy is a prosecutor with a dancing past…
“I won the Macon Cotillion’s SWING CHAMPIONSHIP dancing to Michael Jackson’s “Rockin Robin,” she once blurted on her show, perhaps wishing she could put that geni back in the bottle, to manage expectations, then emerge triumphant … The Winner!
“If I fall, take off your shirt to distract viewers,” she asked her parter-teacher on the air Friday.
“No, Nancy, you take off YOUR shirt,” he responded. Fast cut to commercial…
As a former underdog assistant Fulton County prosecutor with blond hair piled beehive high, she wracked up an astounding 130 guilty verdicts and no losses at trial.
“Nancy Grace is a b—ch,” one well paid defense lawyer told me years ago when I was following her during a murder trial for the first TV profile she’d ever allowed. He was grousing she’d do anything to win, even don low cut blouses before a good old boy jury.
I once watched her grab a glass of water and throw it on the courtroom floor to illustrate how her arson investigator believed the fire started.
“Sustained,” said the judge, admonishing Grace for the high drama. But it was too late for even one of the city’s finest criminal lawyers to put water back in a glass, or erase a jury’s memory.
Nancy had made her point, driving home her theory of a greedy Atlanta millionaire who started a fire he’d escaped with a bedroom rope ladder, while his wife died at the bottom of the stairs.
Not from smoke or burns, but a blow to the back of the head, said the medical examiner. A wife planning a divorce. In the library, I found a collection of hundreds of true crime books, many about murders, solved and unsolved. The verdict: Guilty!
Grace grew up in Macon, Ga., home to the late Otis Redding, Little Richard, The Allman Brothers, where rhythm and soul tap dance on the banks of the mighty Ocmulgee River, and pulled down such beauty queen titles as Miss Sweet Potato, Miss Candied Yam, and other notable awards, I’m told.
Like a good lawyer who never asks a question before she knows the answer, you think she’d volunteer to Tango on TV if she didn’t know at least a few steps?
In fact, a Bald Truth investigation has discovered that when it came to the young Miss Grace, no first place blue ribbon gathered dust long before she was off to the next contest…like polite dance smackdowns hosted by Macon Cotillion, that prim and proper — and always chaperoned–â€“ social group that taught Dixie Darlings etiquette, how to courtsey, bow, flirt properly —AND DANCE—before unleashing their little banshees on the world.
At Cotillion, Grace learned how to Waltz, Fox Trot, Cha Cha Cha, Shag, Swing, Rhumba, Tango, and cut the rug right out from under virtually every other pretty rival in town, sources tell us.
After graduating from Mercer Law School, she landed a job as a prosecutor in Atlanta. By day, she cleaned clocks in court; by night, she tracked her witnesses and often kept her rhythm sharp dancing up a storm.
So….Dancing With The Stars rivals, beware!
Nancy Grace is coming to town. Don’t let that “I don’t know nothin’ â€˜bout birthin’ no babies, or dancing, Miss Scarlett shtick fool you.
On the dance floor, as in the courtroom, we’ve learned Nancy Grace always got her man.
Now, as one friend puts it, “Don’t count her out. It ain’t over til the fat lady sings.”